The Witch's Candelabra

Chapter 3 - The Candelabra's Dance

Braids:

As I ascended the narrow staircase, each step groaned underfoot, their creaks resounding in the quiet house. Reaching the top, a sudden obstacle nearly tripped me – a neatly folded dark square on the wooden floor. Recognizing the fresh linens, a quiet offering from Aunt Biddy, I paused. Her attempts at care were often cloaked in silent gestures like these, though she never crossed the threshold into my personal domain. My room, after all, was my sanctuary, guarded not just by the physical lock but by the unspoken rules we both silently acknowledged.

Fishing out the iron skeleton key from the deep pocket of my skirt, I admired its ornate, cold metalwork for a moment. This key, with its intricate design and familiar chill against my skin, was more than just a tool; it was a symbol of the private world I kept. Gently, I inserted it into the lock, feeling the tumblers yield as it turned with a satisfying clank. The bolts slid back, granting me access to my inner sanctum once more

Once inside, I surveyed the draping that hung from the ceiling. With a casual swish of my hand, the fabric crinkled and retracted, neatly tucking itself into the room's edges. This small act of magic framed the ceiling windows perfectly, allowing the silvery moonlight to cast an ethereal glow into the room. I lit the kerosene lamps, their gentle light soothing to the eye, and took a deep breath, savoring the calm ambiance.

Through the window, my rooftop garden was visible. It was a small, enchanting space, filled with a variety of herbs and flowers that thrived under the moon's watchful eye. The garden was my sanctuary, a place where nature and magic intertwined seamlessly.

The room itself was sparsely furnished, with a simple bed tucked in one corner and my work desk dominating the other. I placed the folded linens on my bed, adding to the current disarray of sheets. My desk, a large assembly of mismatched wooden tables scavenged from the street over the years, was a testament to my eclectic tastes. It was cluttered with bowls of mortar and pestle, their surfaces stained with the remnants of various spices.

In the heart of this organized chaos sat a large, glistening silver candelabra. Intricately carved with four flame holders, it was the centerpiece of my magical practice. Beside it, propped on a tilted oaken stand, lay my spell book. Its pages were filled with my handwriting, a collection of scribbles, spells, and notes accumulated over time. Around the book, rows of glass jars lined the desk, each containing spices of all colors and kinds. Cinnamon sticks, dried lavender, and crushed rose petals were just a few of the ingredients that filled the jars, their scents mingling in the air, creating an atmosphere ripe for magic and creativity.

This room, with its blend of the mundane and the mystical, was a reflection of who I was — a haven where I could be my true self, unfettered by the expectations and norms of the outside world.

Before I could even take a step towards my table, a sudden movement at the corner of my eye startled me. I spun around, heart racing, as a flurry of black birds crashed against the window, their caws loud and demanding. "Okay, okay!" I cried out, hurrying to open the window.

The birds, a raucous group of crows, surged into the room as soon as the window was ajar. They swooped and dived, filling the air with a cacophony of trills and flaps. I watched as they perched on every available surface of my room - the bookshelves, the back of my chair, even atop the candelabra, their beady eyes watching me expectantly.

I dashed to my supply of birdseed, kept for moments just like this. Grabbing handfuls of the seed, I threw it out the window onto the deck of my garden. Normally, I would meticulously place the seeds in the designated feeders, taking care to spread them evenly. But today, my patience was thin; I wasn't in the mood for such intricacies.

The crows cackled and took off in a frenzy, diving towards the scattered seed. Their black wings beat against the moonlit sky, creating a whirlwind of feathers and energy. I watched them for a moment, their wildness a stark contrast to the calmness of my room. Once they were all outside, I closed the window, the silence settling in once more.